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Journal of the South Pacific
Association for Commonwealth
Literature and Language Studies
Number 34-35 (1993)


Edited by Vijay Mishra

Gandhi: Documentary and Epic Feature Film (Problematics of Representation)

Peter Jeffery Recently I came across the article, by Indian film critic and theorist Ashish Rajadhyaksha entitled "Gandhiana and Gandhiology" in an anthology joint- edited by Manuel Alvarado, a champion of Third World aspirations. It refired an earlier hope of mine, which was to exhaustively compare the 6-hour documentary film The Life of Mahatma and Richard Attenborough's feature film Gandhi, both epic in subject matter and length. Read against each other as filmic types meeting the constraints of their genres and resources is revealing enough, but against the grain of Ashish Rajadhyaksha's desire for the maintenance of history against myth, and Indian as opposed to European or multinational expression the exercise shows the fragility of actual representations and their ideological delivery, no matter how prescriptive such theorists are.

For this article then I have examined the documentary and the feature film to the chronological point of Gandhi's trip to Britain through Europe to attend the Round Table Conference, following his triumphant Salt March, and will hold the comparison to that, even though the film Gandhi opens with the dignity and spectacularity of Gandhi's funeral procession and cremation following his assassination.

The trajectory of Rajadhyaksha's paper is usefully charted by Manuel Alvarado and John Thompson in their introductory note:

One of the most theoretically influential pieces of film criticism published in the early 70s was a collective text by the editors of Cahiers du Cinema about John Ford's Young Mr. Lincoln. Among the many issues explored in this text, two areas relate to Ashish Rajadhyaksha's account of Richard Attenborough's film Gandhi. The first is the attempt to analyse the film in 'conjunctural' terms, to try and understand how an apparently 'historical' film functions in the current ideological and political battles of India. The second concerns the audience and argues that the reason the historical veracity of the film is not important is because the film suppresses history in favour of myth - one of the most enduring popular genres in the cinema.

Rajadhyaksha argues that in conjunctural terms the functional value of the film is to reinforce 'nationalism' at a time of increasing belligerence from regionalist forces (the Sikh struggles are only one of the better publicised such uprisings).

Secondly he contends that it is not the historical inaccuracy of the film which is a problem but rather its dehistoricisation of Gandhi's life. This lack of historical information provides a problem - or a structured absence - for the audience to which Rajadhyaksha offers an intriguing explanation for the film's success: 'It is the sensuous impact of the portrayal that forces the audience to bridge for themselves the deficiencies of the fiction'. Rajadhyaksha is also concerned that his article should not be read as a 'review' of the film which would thereby legitimise and validate it. This problem of the privileging of the 'exemplary text' continually confronts the critic who, in the very process of questioning the text, becomes in a very real sense its promoter.1

Aggressively Rajadhyaksha opens with an outline of how the epic developed in Hollywood with references to Biblical myths, World Wars, holocausts and armageddons towards the construction and delivery of a vehicle 'for portraying the grand proportions of the values and mythologies of any ruling class that may wish to purchase it from its professional manufacturers'. U.S. imperialism and its own doctrine of manifest destiny is commercially relegated to the mere provision of epic films for:

a shaky Indian bourgeoisie, badly in need of a retelling of its glorious nationalist past, is quite clearly resorting to professional renovators of myths who would undoubtedly use techniques akin to advertising to refurbish its sagging image. Maybe reasons can be found in the very conventions of the 'epic' that permit a superficial resemblance with history, while detaching the fiction of the film from the exigencies of historical analysis, and which - once they have won the freedom to do so - permit further interpretations of that history.2

But paradoxically, despite Indian government support and specifications, the Attenborough film signalises a US and British presence, with its famous acting ensembles and a distinctly European perspective, subject to a self deprecating presentation of the fading British Imperial control, and forever giving deference to Gandhi's personal dignity and shrewd tactics. Like Bertolucci's film The Last Emperor, Gandhi was seen as a world film rather than an Indian one, for beside the Columbia pictures aegis, the key investors were Goldcrest Films, famed for multinational forays and the suitably anonymous International Film Investors, and as such attracted the commercial acumen of Indo British films and the entrepreneurial wing of Indian government filmmaking, the National Film Development Corporation as producing partners.

The Life of Mahatma, which was produced as a monument to Gandhi from documentary archives, with some animation and montage additions shortly after Gandhi's death, was produced by the Gandhi National Memorial Fund in collaboration with the Films Division/Govt. of India. The motives to memorialise Gandhi as nationalist hero can thus be read as religiously dictated, socialistically necessary, or the embedding of the new bourgeois nation builders, or a conjunction of all three, and yet was done within the new nation state without direct multinational assistance. That such a film would tour the provinces first as inspiration and celebration with eager audiences, then fade through the aging of its images and didactic tone can be anticipated, but it is a major accomplishment nonetheless, and in its way echoes Chile's Hour of the Furnace as a nation building document. This said, this film has never outranked the perennial appeal of Mother India which shows somewhere in India every week.

Thus Rajadhyasha's shrewd and biting comment:

It had to happen that the tradition that thrived on imperialist grandeur would one day also sense equally 'epic' possibilities in movements that have countered just such grandeur.3

reads as contradictorily hindsight, against the distinctly Indian efforts in the epic feature from that period of Hindi film which is seen as its most profoundly popular because of the weighty pro-Nationalist symbolism, and a concerted governmental and Hindu attempt at definitive documentary post Independence.

Still, if Mother India is disregarded, the superior resources allocated to Gandhi may well trivialise the most worthy and dated of flickering archival film. Indeed Gandhi 'improves' on the newsreel footage of Gandhi's Round Table trip to London, skilfully inserting Ben Kingsley as Gandhi, outside the Quaker Kingsley Hall with a new pearly king in attendance to rival the splendour of his ancestor in the original. Nonetheless it is careful to maintain those rudiments, much as the reconstruction of the Soviet tanks in Czechoslovakia works off contemporary newsreel footage in the film of Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Further, the epic is seen as massing subtle special and spectacular effects:

The 'epic' - or the mass-spectacular - in the classical Hollywood tradition, is the indicator of the superstructural dimensions of the commodity. At its simplest this is the money spent on the film, the vastness of the sets and the size of the crowd scenes. At more complex levels, however, as with DeMille, it relates also to another kind of extravagance in the myths that are mobilised, the overpowering emotions that it indulges. By its very weight it is an indicator of the system that produces and markets it.4

Yet the documentary similarly eulogises the crowd as indicator of mass movement, for archival film on Gandhi is rarely concerned with the pastoral moments of his ashrams or the intimate chat of his carefully chosen companions both Indian and Western. Rather, it emphasises his major input into the National Congresses and those vast and politically potent assemblages, even if the Gandhi film has a discourse which asserts the people over the nationalist politicians with their mixed motives, when Gandhi speaks to such a Congress:


But the people of India are untouched
Their politics are confined to bread and salt.

Illiterate they may be but they are not blind.

They see no reason to give their loyalty
to rich and powerful men who simply want
to take over the role of the British in the
name of freedom.

This Congress tells the world it represents
India. My brothers India is 700,000 villages,
not a few hundred lawyers in Delhi and Bombay
Until we stand in the fields with the millions
who toil each day under the hot sun - we will not
represent India - nor will we ever be able to
challenge the British as one nation.5

Even in this rhetoric we see the paradox that it is uttered by a lawyer, whose advocacy in South Africa bought him year long engagements and many long distance trips, in his earlier career. This sojourn in the Indian 'diaspora', which spanned some twenty years, was to give Gandhi a critical if passionate distance in which he could develop his own consciousness of a homogenous Indian-ness, which made him the most able rhetorician for the new independent Indian nation. Married with his other sojourn in Britain absorbing the colonising/colonized structure of British and Indian law, he was well able to define and defend the rights of fellow Indians in South Africa where necessity of discriminatory pressures made the Indian community unified be it Hindu, Muslim or of any other basic religious origin.

It has long been the role of newsreel to maintain the presence of rulers at their most dignified at public events institutionally arranged, which are seen as politically important for who attended them as much as for what the events marked. Thus Gandhi in the documentary is continually counterpointed against the famous men of his day, even if they range from George V, interestingly shown as an entry to Buckingham palace, perhaps to avoid the inference of a recognition of the legitimacy of the Independence claims of Gandhi if they are shown together in the visual flesh, through the now relatively obscure French novelist and pacifist Romain Rolland, to an equally popular Charlie Chaplin, who also ultimately gave out his messages for peace in The Great Dictator. Indeed some of the fuller documentations of such powerful international recognition of, and friendship with, Gandhi led to the suspension of certain newsreels from being shown in India.

To be able to show the great 'epic' of urban architectures as sites of installation, symbol, monument and memorialisation is a tactic that the documentary continually uses. To mark Gandhi's rise to power and his familiarity with palaces and congresses, the film often shows relatively empty buildings carefully tended and marshalled, or impressive stills of them, as if to hint that Gandhi's presence within them marked him and them with their mutual transcendence. In the film Gandhi, this emptiness is used to profound effect when Gandhi is summoned to the Vice Regal palace by Lord Irwin, where he is given concessions on the Salt tax and an invitation to the All Government Conference in London. The script has it:


The black car pulls up before the front of the Palace and stops. There is no sign of activity. It is as though the building and grounds are deserted except for Irwin alone in his office.

GANDHI gets out of the car. He too is alone. In his dhoti and shawl he starts to mount the grand stairs WIDE ANGLE. The great Palace, the magnificent entrance, and the little MAN in the Dhoti, who in a sense has conquered it all, marching to the great doors.6

but in a moment of directorial inspiration the black car is excluded and we pull back from a close up with Gandhi's sandalled feet moving briskly over and up the huge and wide stairs to reveal him alone in that great ascendancy.

To return to crowds, we see them skilfully used in the feature film for maximum choreographed effect, and indeed a still from Attenborough's In Search of Gandhi illustrates this well.7 It shows a piece of flatland before the ruins of an old fort or palace with hundreds of villagers assembled, part haphazard over the broken ground of the background, and geometrically squared in the foreground but leaving a huge rectangle of empty ground around the central raised platform, which allows Ba, Gandhi's wife, to be signalised as a voice of all women:


(simple, direct)
... But now something worse is happening. When Ghandiji and I were growing up, women wove their own cloth. But now there are millions who have no work because those who can, buy all they need from England - I say with Gandhiji, there is no beauty in the finest cloth if it makes hunger and unhappiness.8

even as she submerges herself in Gandhi, who takes over to speak for Hindu Muslim unity. In short, similar scenes in the documentary often have the central space swamped by people continually moving in cross negotiation to the speaker, and initially had Gandhi speaking and seated at ground level, though later in his career the principles of elevation and microphone amplification lift him from the crowd.

Thus we might have some sympathy with Rajadhyaksha:

Having created the artificial image, the tradition immediately reinforces it with all the 'spectacular' accoutrements at its disposal. The first major close-up comes when Gandhi addresses the non-white audience in the theatre. Then we have Gandhi's peaceful march, which is charged down by mounted South African police. As the horses bear down upon the peaceful demonstrators, the soundtrack is magnified, close-ups of thundering horsehooves give the impression that thousands of horses are charging, with low-angle shots of the animals about to crush the puny man before them. Passive repulsion thus itself gets elevated to an 'epic' counterpoint, a worthy successor to the tremendous elevating shots of the man speaking to his audience in the previous scene.9

despite the contradictoriness of claiming close up as complex spectacularity, even if the amplification of the modern zoom is utilised and privileges, and hence, monumentalises the individual over the mass, for it is achieved by the simplest of means and is the basis of the universal step down of rudimentary editing, which is from the all-inclusive master shot to the indicative close up. The earlier documentary does not have the fluidity of careful scene setting, for it takes up endless and often chaotic vistas of undifferentiated crowds as the only authentic available footage. Nowadays, with the ubiquitous 3-point or multipoint TV camera set ups for mass events, even as large as Woodstock, close ups and long shots are continually, if not kaleidoscopically, intermingled, but obviously these earlier situations often had only one recording camera. Yet skilful editing can make its own choreography, and we see such manipulation of rhythm and key detail in a sequence of the famous Salt March, which in many ways is what Pasolini would call natural 'imsign' and the Neo-Realists would see as informing symbol. Indeed the script of the feature amusingly points this:

Salt? . . . . . . . . .

All right - he's breaking the law. What will he be depriving us of, two rupees of salt tax?

It's not a serious attack on the revenue, sir. Its primary importance is symbolic.

Don't patronise me, Charles.


No Sir - I - In this climate, sir, nothing lives without water - or salt. Our absolute control of it is a control on the pulse of India.10

The documentary sequence shows Gandhi moving at such a clipping pace, that it is almost silent movie Keystone, and he is seen as leading and merging back into the crowd, or being touched respectfully or magically by newcomers to the crowd, but in a remarkably unparticularised way. Suddenly, perhaps because of the drama of relative scale we become aware of a small boy, who is marching to the side and ahead, who, by turning back to look, probably directs our gaze back to the momentarily concealed or diminutive Gandhi. The human element of age differentiation and the moment of individual recognition are too valuable for the documentary editor to lose, and he replays this moment in an interspersing and repetitive manner, with all the aplomb of a Soviet montagist, even to the expense of having the same section of film physically reproduced two more times.

When we study the Gandhi film sequence on the March, we see a perfect observer, a boy in a tree who watches two sets of marchers meet at a cross road and merge, but differentiated by as the script shows:

A blunt rotund powerful looking woman (SAROJINI NAIDU) in an outrageously colourful sari strides along the dusty road as though she could cover another thousand miles and means to.11 (my italics)

Thus the same effect is used by epic filmmaker and documentarist alike - to make the mass comprehensible individuation seem inevitable, even if we use the Eisensteinian ensemble of typage where an ensemble of three heroic peasant individuals reflects, say, regional diversity and national unity as in Alexander Nevsky.

The critic echoes the Caheirs collective in showing the hegemonically purposive thrust in rendering Mohandas K Gandhi as epic, even if transcendental individual or a historically vouchsafed icon:

At the time of writing, Gandhi is entering its 11th week in six theatres in Bombay. It has been granted tax-exemption by the Maharashtra government, and a directive has been issued from the Prime Minister's desk to all State Governments that they grant a similar exemption. Every screening in the city has seats block-reserved for primary-school children who see the film as part of their history lesson, and they are not the only ones who are being shown the film as history comes alive. Practically the whole of Bombay's upper-middle class is awash in a wave of nostalgia for the leader of its nationalist movement.12

and is keen to show the ideological and historical slippage and malleability that exists:

In Gandhi the myth is created when the film subordinates the historical character and events to which it refers to its internal design. It begins by making an appeal for a subjective assessment: an initial title says that no film can ever hope to capture all the details about a man's life (which is obviously true) and that it is therefore more important to get to the 'heart of the man' (which does not follow at all). But nowhere is the subjectivity of the interpretation acknowledged.13

and further:

This is how your heroes of that time looked, says the film, this is how they dressed, how they spoke to each other, these are their mannerisms and gestures. The film generates an interest in the individual - or rather, the Individual - and the events are little more than dramatic props with which to highlight their greatness. A major component of the myth is the creation of the 'epic' individual who can interpret in the context of the bourgeois identity the 'epic' nature of the events in which he participates.14

The problem however is that Gandhi, the mortal, was given that transcendence by the Indian multitude in its response to him; as the documentary shows in its segment Mahatma: New Challenges, on the 1931 Congress - where he is given 'a mandate to speak and act in the name of the country'. Further, when he fasted in rejection of incidents like the burning of the Chauri Chaura police station, he called on the national civil disobedience movement to halt and was successful. It is true that the film itself renders such a tactic problematic and indicates that not everyone was in agreement with his tactics or believed that this was the sole motivation of mass action, but his own internalised rhetoric was willingly believed and employed by many as justification and was a dominant apologia. On the eve of the Round Table Conference the documentary quotes his own words:

I will use my inner voice which means God will guide me.15

This quandary of the individual as historical linchpin, either as the focus of social forces, or remarkable leader, or an ideological correlate of a proposition rendered through a specific subject position, which also exercised Tolstoy in War and Peace, is of course a historical chestnut, and is canvassed fairly, if drably, in the filmscript; when Nehru and four friends are driving out to Gandhi's ashram after his comments at the Congress:


This can't be the way!

SECOND FRIEND (a mocking quote)

Yes I'm sure this is the direction India is taking,16

the latter said after their progress is stopped by a goat obstructing their car. To laughter he continues:

To think I almost got excited by Mr. Jamah when all this was awaiting me.17

and when they are told that Gandhi is sitting under a banjan tree, the first friend concludes drolly, as he climbs out:

Come on! I'm anxious to meet this new force!18

But perhaps the most emphatic illustration is Attenborough's report of Nehru (another national linchpin, who spoke of Indian destiny at the midnight of Independence), thus, in his opinion on the script:

He seemed convinced that the film, by simply telling Gandhi's story, could communicate the incredible worth of this man to millions of people and, indeed, reminded me that Gandhiji himself, when asked about the message he wished to convey to the world, replied, 'My life is my message!'19

Even if Rajadhyaksha can remain free from the illusoriness of this discourse fuelled by bourgeois ideology, it remains, either because leaders or linchpins believe it and cast themselves into the mould of epic narrative to explain history and their role in it, or it is the remnants of a discourse that shifted position and power within itself, and requires a sympathetic, but symptomatic, commentary to comprehend its functional rather than transcendental validity. Whatever the case, Gandhi with his far reaching and powerful autobiography helped frame his own hagriography and catalogue of key events - Gandhi himself was both cause and victim of Gandhiana and Gandhiology - so the documentary is no less nor more valid when it carried the authenticating imprimatur:

The story is told mainly in Gandhi's own words.20

Indeed the dialogue of Gandhi at least permits for dialectic whether based on actual disputation (or is it recorded disputation?) or the basis of a contrived text, whereas the documentary carrying the euphonious, but ubiquitous commentary of the All India Radio voice of Romesh Thaper shows no trace of break between Gandhi's words, and the framing or interpretative commentary that packs every frame and sequence with unending didacticism or monolithic chronicle.

The critic attacks the selection and sequencing of events of the film Gandhi even though they come through Gandhi's autobiography and Fischer's biography:

From the very first shot - a fiery, red morning, by the Sabarmati - the film compresses certain impressions about the past, certain premises that provide the context for the spectator. The most 'spectacular' of the scenes, the funeral march, also occurs at the beginning: we are being readied to witness the saga. This process of providing the scale, the 'epic' dimension, at the start of the film, is a vital aspect of the conventions of this form. The rapidity with which Gandhi rises to his full stature - (Scene 1, Gandhi thrown out of a train; scene 2, he recognises injustice for the first time; scene 3 establishes the South African Congress; scene 4, General Smuts is worried already; scene 5, notices in the paper; scene 6, he meets C.F. Andrews, compresses his philosophy into a short statement during the walk; scene 7, Smuts says to Walker 'He's the shrewdest man you're likely ever to meet'; scene 8, establishment of his ashram) - is possible only because the history is known, the audience acquainted beforehand with what is to follow. It will also be obvious that this prior knowledge need not be extra-filmic, for the initial scenes themselves provide it.21

As indicated earlier, this South African section is crucial as the diasporic sojourn and formation of Gandhi as nationalist prophet and embodiment. Even if the critic sees the period as kaleidescopically truncated, and historically delimited, in its understanding of the forces that lead to colonial awareness and resistance, it carries its own diasporic counter-balance nonetheless to the eventual re-entry and momentum that leads to Gandhi's martyrdom for India.

Because the end and beginning of Gandhi's life, always crucial for historical and genealogical framing along phallocentric lines of law and property rights are both actual and symbolic, so too the rendering of these moments as cultural events are also predictable. Thus the critic can both condemn the film for a required or received hagiography, and claim that it is an internally and self structuring narrative that is understood without such prior knowledge. Richard Attenborough also ambiguates:

What possible appeal could there be for young audiences? It was a subject based on a virtually unknown principal character from an alien country and with an image, if he had any, of an old man dressed in a sheet carrying a bean pole ....

Who, I asked, amongst the ordinary cinema going public had heard of Lawrence of Arabia, and that had shown itself to be an enormous success.22

with what seems, at least, a rhetorical dismissal of the actual cultural power of the older generation, or, at most, with its special pleading and coat-trailing a hint of the 'naked fakir' epithet of the earlier Churchill. Ironically Gandhi himself said:

my life is so public that there is hardly anything not known about it.23

which though vainglorious may have been true for its time.

The critic's remarks about the funeral, framing an epic regard for the feature film's subject matter, is matched by the documentary's opening, which shows solely natural phenomena of India's materiality with human absence, yet achieves a similar result. A transcendental light breaks through clouds and the Himalayas merge and dissolve into each other, and as a thousand mountain streams merge for the great Indian river systems the commentary cites:

This ancient land bound by the sacred thread of a common heritage.24

and issues into Hindu ideology, and proceeds through its images of palm clad shores and terraced hills, and fields of waving corn beneath the vigilant sweep of a hovering eagle to render India paradisical. The town of Porbondur as an ancient entrepot port for Arabia and the Africas, is used to infer the catholicity of commercial harmony and mingled cultures. A similar moment is achieved in the feature where Gandhi recuperating speaks with Walker of the same and his childhood town, and its practice of shared religion, so the same bourgeois ideology that the critic condemns, asserts itself through the materiality of India, yielding the same illusory and transcendental discourse. What can be suggested in the place of this discourse? As Elsaessar says elsewhere, we need stereometric models of verbal explanation to break such linear chain of rationalistic cause and effect explanations, but as yet no nation can break free into such new and liberating explanatory systems.

The final section of the critic's paper argues against the dominant use of Western commentators and observers to comment on the meaning of Gandhi, wresting it away from its Indian specificity and one can have some sympathy with this frustration. It goes further to the point of polemic:

If it is they, not the Indians, who recognise Gandhi's greatness, they can do so only in their own context, i.e. Gandhi has become transformed into an Indian messiah.25

and leads one into the rejoinder that Gandhi, like many great Indian intellectuals of his time sought an increased understanding and exchange with European and Christian culture, for Gandhi wrote to Tolstoy and Rolland, studied along with many other scriptures the Christian Bible, and wrote extensively in English. His discourse, as that of the documentary is framed by British law with its sense of appropriate dialectic through commonsensical procedure and a resultant logic of appeal. The symbol of the martyr was not lost upon him, for in St Peter's, he stopped in front of an emaciated Christ and meditated on:

pain voluntarily borne by oneself.26

In short he was shaped by the culture of his time, even if it was beset by a specifically Indian anxiety, and as a great advocate and polemicist he was aware of the need to capture the Western Press and its interpretation of himself and Indian independence movements.

As a parting shot, Rajadhyaksha returns to the final determinant or baseline of economic profit, when he criticises Attenborough's circumvention of an Indian exclusion of filming or shooting rights in Rashtrapati Bhavan, by disregarding the contemporary civic injunction, to appeal to an earlier positive ruling made by a more monarchistic authority. Left like this, without greater exposition, the proprietorialness seems carping, and could lead one to reflect that it was a similar strategy, if less sincere impulse that led to the shabby commercial desires and efforts of some Indians to stop their fellow Indian producer Ismael Merchant from making a sequence of The Deceivers in a similar location, as Merchant recounts in his book Hullabaloo in Old Jeypore.

Some ten years later Rajadhyaksha's critique, in turn, is seen as symptomatic of an irritation with another Gandhi or two, Indira and Sanjay, that led to its utilisation of the Caheirs conjunctural model. As I have said before the method is worthy and hints at the necessity of stereometric and commonly agreed symptomatic reading, but such models are slow in developing, and leave us with a whole set of intersecting discourses that are only more or less open to the advanced reading that Rajadhyaksha requires, but are also held in time to their own ideological fixes.

Post the initial presentation of this article, as a paper at Edith Cowan University's Reporting Asia Seminar Series for 1992, I have come across an article by Sanjay Seth in Thesis Eleven, 32 entitled "Nationalism, National Identity and 'History': Nehru's Search for India", which shows how Nehru could maintain contradictory ideologies and 'histories' in his project of an independent India, without curbing his political thrust, for the differing stances, necessarily obtained from different class positions and governing powers. Similarly, Rajadhyaksha himself writes in Sight and Sound, with its memorial colloquium on Satyajit Ray, a contributory article 'Beyond orientalism', which is more skilfully balanced in placing the historical mindset of Ray against the elements of film-practice, which would be necessary to create a more autonomous and integral Indian cinema. It is such writing that one hopes would be available in the fullest discussion of films about Gandhi.

In closing I would like to dedicate this article to my son Daniel Mohandas Jeffery, who was so named because of my admiration for Mohandas K. Gandhi, much in the spirit of Einstein's eulogy upon Gandhi's death:

Generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon the earth.

For Gandhi's doctrine of non-violence greatly helped confirm and establish my own sense of pacificism.


1 Manual Alvarado and John O Thompson, editors, The Media Reader, (British Film Institute, London, 1990), p.213.

2 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, Gandhana and Gandhiology in Manuel Alvarado and John O Thompson, editors, The Media Reader, (British Film Institute, London, 1990) and originally from Framework No. 223, (Autumn, 1983), p.214.

3 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.214.

4 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.214.

5 John Briley, p.108.

6 John Briley, p.154.

7 Richard Attenborough, In Search of Gandhi, (The Bodley Head, London, 1982), pp.86-87.

8 John Briley, p.108.

9 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.216.

10 John Briley, p.139.

11 John Briley, p.146.

12 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.214.

13 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.215.

14 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.215.

15 Sound track of The Mahatma: Life of Gandhi produced by the Gandhi National Memorial Fund in collaboration with the Film Division, Government of India.

16 John Briley, p.70.

17 John Briley, p.70.

18 John Briley, p.71.

19 Richard Attenborough, p.68.

20 The Mahatma: Life of Gandhi, op.cit. Open credits of each section.

21 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.215.

22 Richard Attenborough, p.77.

23 The Mahatma: Life of Gandhi, op.cit., The Epic March 1928-31.

24 ibid., The Early Years 1869-81.

25 Ashish Rajadhyaksha, p.218.

26 The Mahatma: Life of Gandhi, op.cit., New Challenges 1931.

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